Tender is the Night
by Cleopatricide
Summary: Emma and Mr.Gold are forced to work together to solve a series of strange thefts. But, like everything else in Storybrooke, nothing is as it seems.
1. Another Cloudy Day

Warning: This story will eventually contain gratuitous amounts of Emma on Gold action. Also this story picks up after the episode "Hat Trick" but now exists in its own separate AU timeline and (probably) won't be affected by future OUAT television developments. This is my first fan fiction so be kind. Or be cruel. Or be cruel to be kind, it's really up to _you._

_Tender is the Night_ is dedicated to Rhinegold whose work _Time Around_ inspired me to write this Emma/Gold story. I appreciate you Rhinegold. Also I've been stalking you on tumblr. I hope that you don't find that too off putting (but I'd totally understand if you did).

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><p><em>Tender is the Night<em> by Cleopatricide

Emma grabbed the take out bag from Granny's diner, apprehensive to get back to the Sheriff's office where a lone Mary Margaret waited anxiously in her prison cell. The paper loudly crinkled in her arms and she could feel the heat from the fresh made food burn against her chest as she pressed the bag close to her body. This was the warmest she'd felt in days.

"Emma."

She turned around and saw the eager face of Archie briskly walking towards her. He smiled and graciously opened the door for her.

"Thanks, Archie. How are you?" She asked while bracing herself for the dreary Maine weather which gave no indication that it was aware of the changing seasons.

"Oh, I just finished having lunch with Marco. I actually have something I wanted to ask you." He paused as he struggled to open his umbrella while holding onto Pongo's leash. Emma waited patiently for Archie to continue, concealing the frustration she felt by shoving her face into the opening of the take out bag and inhaling the comforting scents of the diner. She simple wanted to get out of the rain, eat her lunch and sit in her warm sheriff's office. She liked her office. It was warm, safe, and offered a barrier between her and the loopy eccentrics this town tended to collect as if they were rare, mentally unstable butterflies.

"Sorry about that." He smiled at her sheepishly. Emma returned the smile, unable to stay frustrated at Archie because of the complete unaffected openness and kindness he consistently wore as if it were the tweed sports coat he was so fond of wearing. "Rough night?" he asked.

"You could say that." she said choosing her words carefully.

It had been more than a rough night. After safely depositing Mary Margaret back into her jail cell, Emma had returned to Jefferson's house in an attempt to locate his body. She had searched the forest in vain until she could no longer feel the tips of her fingers and her flash light had begun to flicker and fade. Emma then returned to her apartment feeling unsettled and anxious. She'd poured herself a shot of whiskey, justifying it by saying that after being kidnapped, drugged, and forced to engaging in millinery activity at gun point, she needed a drink to calm her nerves. That shot had led to a few fifths too many and she'd ended up on the sofa attempting to masturbate to a Betamax tape of _Tootsie_. Eventually she gave up. It was too difficult to try and fantasize about a dragged out Dustin Hoffman and Emma couldn't shake the feeling that at any moment Regina was going to arrive unannounced, opening their apartment door with one of her literal skeleton keys, and proceed to lecture Emma.

"How do you think Henry would react if he saw you drunk, splayed out on the sofa with your whore's panties around your knees, thrashing around like a fish out of water." Imaginary Regina said disapprovingly.

Emma had then passed out on Mary Margaret's bed, falling asleep with her face pressed into its the downy soft pillows as the gentle smell of Mary Margaret surrounding her like an extra security blanket.

"It's about cats." Archie said interrupting Emma's depressing recollection of last night.

"What?"

"Well, specifically my cat. It's Sergeant Tibbs. He's gone missing."

"Sergeant Tibbs, the cat, has gone missing. Is that correct?" she asked.

"He's been missing since Sunday night. And normally I'd chalk it up to cats just being independent but I'm also missing several tins of cat food." He said as he repositioned his umbrella so that Emma was protected from the fine drizzle that was beginning to fall.

"Did the thief steal anything else or was it just the cat food?"

"Well, Sergeant Tibbs."

"Other than the cat and the cat food was anything else taken?" she asked.

"That's the strangest thing, nothing else is missing." He tightened his grip on Pongo's leash.

"I'm sorry to hear that Archie." She paused for a moment wondering if she should pat him on the back to show he had her sympathy but her hands were full and she was terrible at emotional overtures, so she continued on hoping that her voice reflected empathy.

"I'll start looking into it as soon as possible. There might be a slight, delay, though. I mean with the whole Katherine Nolan trial…" she trailed off; she wasn't sure how to finish that sentence. Finishing that sentence meant drudging up all of the frustration, anger and shit that had surrounded this fucking three ring circus the past few days.

"I'm truly sorry to hear about what happened to Ms. Blanchard. I hope that the trial goes well for the both of you. But with Mr. Gold on the case, how can you lose?" He smiled at her.

"Mr. Gold certainly seems confident, but that seems to be his default setting." Emma grumbled. She thought back to her deal with Mr. Gold. She knew that by making that back room bargain she was, essentially, getting in bed with the devil. Well, she thought, Mr. Gold has already fucked me over before, at least I know what to expect.

"I don't know about that. He seems to have smug down pat too." He laughed before getting back to the matter at hand. "But back to Sergeant Tibbs my neighbor, Ms. Ginger, also told me that her cat is missing too." He said while tugging on Pongo's leash trying to dissuade his dog from leaping into some of the more sizeable mud puddles.

"I'll swing by your place this evening and take a look around, see if I can find any evidence that would point to our thief. And if anyone else mentions their cat is missing direct them to my office." She said while scooting closer to Archie so she was completely covered by the large black umbrella.

"Certainly. Well it looks like this is your stop. Emma, I know that the trial is just gearing up and well, with how close you are to Ms. Blanchard." He stumbled over his next words, unsure of how to continue. He blushed and adjusted his glassed while Emma patiently waited for him to continue. "What I'm trying to say is if you ever need anyone to talk to, well, my door is always open for you. Have a good day, Ms. Swan." He gave her a gentle pat on the back, the hand on her shoulder was firm and reassuring and it was the most human contact that she'd received in a long time. Emma was embarrassed by how much his touch comforted her.

"Thanks Archie, I really appreciate your support. I hope you have a good day too." She gave him a small wave as she unlocked the Sheriff's office and went inside.

"Mary Margaret I'm back and I see you have company." Emma struggled to stifle an exasperated sigh as she observed Mr. Gold conversing with Mary. He was sitting in a chair across from her roommate's cell, his cane laid across his lap. He smiled his usual tight thin smile and, ever the consummate gentlemen, he stood to greet her.

"Ah Sheriff, how are you today?" he asked.

"I think the better question would be how you did you get in here Gold?" she said as she walked towards Mary's cell.

"You left the door unlocked. You should be lucky that I'm the one in here and not Regina." He said.

Emma concentrated on his face, searching for any kind of tell or twitch that would indicate that he was being untruthful. As always, Mr. Gold's true intentions remained evasive, deeply hidden beneath his small smile and clipped tone.

"That's what you're going to go with, really." She rolled her eyes. "Here Mary Margaret I brought you lunch. If you would have called to let me know you were coming Gold, I would have picked some up for you as well."

She handed Mary her lunch, their fingers briefly touching through the bars. At that moment all Emma wanted to do was open the cell door and pull Mary into a tight embrace. Every night that she left the office and headed over to their apartment was another cruel reminder that so far Emma had failed to protect her friend.

"Actually, Ms. Swan, I'm still waiting for that ice cream cone." Mr. Gold said.

Emma stood there unable to process a response.

"That was a joke dear."

Mary laughed softly which caused her round cherubic face to light up with pleasure. It was a welcome sight. The past few days had left her looking pinched and wane. That brief flash of happiness transported Emma to a happier time when she and Mary used to sit at the kitchen island, drinking MacCutcheon whiskey and complaining about the dismal state of their love lives. How did, she wondered, everything become so decidedly fucked up?

"Funny." She responded as she sat down at her desk and unpacked her lunch. Mr. Gold sat back down and stared thoughtfully at Emma. She fought down a blush and focused her attention onto the Ruben that Ruby had prepared for her.

Fairytales, evil queens, magic hats and murder trials, her life was complicated enough; she didn't need to compound everything by nursing an odd fixation with the at worst evil at best morally ambiguous Mr. Gold. She bite into her sandwich, I need to get laid, she thought desperately.

The room was silent as Emma and Mary ate their lunch.

"Well I must depart. I have great confidence in your case Ms. Blanchard. I'm positive that you will not be residing in that jail cell for much longer." He reached his hand through the bars of the cell and took her hand in his. "Don't worry, Ms. Blanchard, I have complete control of the situation."

Mary shook his hand. Emma watched her plaster on a false smile that distended her cheeks but failed to reach her eyes.

"Good bye Ms. Blanchard, Ms. Swan." He fixed his gaze on Emma and smiled.

Not wanting to seem intimidated she met his gaze, staring into his eyes as if to say 'I may have just compromised my entire code of ethics by dealing with you but don't think that gives you a competitive advantage.' Or it might have just come off as 'My mouth is full of sauerkraut so I can't talk but I am going to chew loudly and stare at you because I'm a fucking incompetent.'

"It's raining." She said lamely.

"A little rain never hurt anyone." She watched him as he confidently strode out of her office and quickly made his way down Storybrooke's Main Street.

"If anyone can get me out of this it's him." Mary said, breaking the silence that had settled over the office.

Emma heard the unspoken question mark that lingered at the end of that sentence and responded, "Yep."

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><p>She stood in the middle of the damp garden, her bare feet sinking deep into the freshly tilled soil. She wiggled her toes.<p>

She stopped.

She wiggled them again and let out a long and low giggle as the mud clung to spaces in between her toes.

"Squelch." She whispered. "Squelch." She repeated the word again; she liked how pronouncing it made her teeth click together. She wondered where her retainer was. It's probably in the phone book she thought. Under R for retainer. She laughed.

No.

She had intended to laugh but only managed to produce a choked and muffled sob. She desperately tried to stifle the noise but she could feel it clawing against her throat.

A wounded animal scrabbling to survive in a dark and unforgiving place.

She was having trouble breathing. She was always having trouble breathing.

Well not for much longer. Soon, things would change and this time they would change in her favor.

The night was dark.

Dark.

Darker than normal.

Or maybe the night was always this dark and she'd never noticed it before. Recently she'd been having trouble noticing things, the real things. The world around her seemed perpetually fuzzy and out of focus, like she was riding the tea cup ride at the Miner's Day Festival while simultaneously looking at the world through a camera lens smeared in Vaseline. It made her dizzy to think about, so she stopped.

Her calf itched.

She heard the grass rustle and prepared herself for disappoint. It's probably just another false alarm she thought. She crouched down, trying to make herself seem as small as possible; too small to be seen. It was a trick she had learned early on and even now it continued to be a valuable skill. She placed her palms on the wet soil. She could feel the dirt sinking in under her finger nails.

I hope I don't get worms, she thought.

A shape gradually made its way towards her. It was a fat tabby cat lumbering through the damp grass, unfazed by the crummy weather. Its bushy tale bounced back and forth as it wandered through its garden.

Finally, she thought, finally.

"Here kitty kitty kitty. Here precious kitty."


	2. Another Idyllic Day in Storybrooke

This chapter was written while I was staying in the hospital. So, I dedicate this chapter to my Nurse Dayna, who doesn't know what fan fiction is.

I want to thank everyone who reviewed and favorited this story. I appreciate you as well.

Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time because if I did it would just be Sydney and Mr. Gold having a bitch off for like 42 minutes. And they would also solve crimes. Crimes that Mr. Gold committed.

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><p>Chapter Two: "Just Another Day in Idyllic Storybrooke"<p>

Emma pulled the stiff bristled brush through her hair, wincing each time it ran against a particularly impenetrable snarl or tangle.

She flipped the brush into the sink, a non-verbal agreement with her hair that she was submitting to its whims. She pulled her hair back into a sloppy ponytail and looked at herself in the mirror.

She looked tired. But she also felt tired so she wasn't going to begrudge her image for telling the truth. It was the only thing in this entire town that seemed to be on the level, and she appreciated that.

She quickly wiped the sleep from her eyes and headed to the kitchen.

Mary Margaret was sitting at the kitchen island looking morose and nursing a stone cold cup of coffee and an equaling depressing bowl of oatmeal.

"Hey roommate how is it going?"

Mary Margaret looked at her. She was surrounded by the remnants of the congratulations for not committing pre-meditated murder party. Emma noticed that she was looking at the giant card Henry had given her.

"Not so good." She said as she closed the card. "Do you want to know why my class made me this card?" she asked Emma.

Emma fished a semi-clean mug out of the cupboard and answered, "Because they all care very much about you."

"No." Mary Margaret said as she dragged her spoon through her oatmeal, "They made me a card because Hallmark doesn't sells 'Congratulations on not committing murder' cards."

Emma stopped pouring her coffee and set down the battered carafe onto the wooden counter top. She pulled Mary Margaret into a tentative hug. "No, they made it because they missed you. Everyone in this town cares a lot for you Mary Margaret. I know this hasn't been easy for you but it hasn't been easy for Storybrooke either. They all wanted to support you but they've never had to show support for a friend who was being charged with murder. They're trying to make it up to you in the only way they know how, by making homemade cards, coffee cakes, banners, and awkward yet good intentioned parties."

"You're right." Mary Margaret said as she scooped up her breakfast dishes and placed them into the sink. "I'm just having a hard time dealing with everything."

"You were just framed for murder; it's perfectly natural to be upset." Emma said as she took a long sip from her coffee mug. She instantly felt better as the bitter black coffee rolled its way through her system.

"You've been cooped up in the apartment for too long, Mary Margaret. Why don't you take a walk and I'll take care of the dishes." Emma said.

Mary Margaret looked hesitant. For a moment Emma wasn't sure if she was going to accept her offer. She anxiously ran her fingers through her short black hair. She let out a small sigh and finally responded, "Ok. That would be nice."

Emma could tell that she was lying but didn't stop Mary Margaret as she put on her coat, grabbed her purse and headed out the door. Mary Margaret had been sequestering herself in the apartment ever since she'd left her jail cell, trading one prison for another. It would be good for her to leave the apartment and get some fresh air. Emma was the self-professed champion of solitary brooding and didn't want to see her roommate's cheery disposition permanently scarred by a self-imposed imprisonment.

Emma was just beginning to scrub the oatmeal that had cemented onto the ceramic bowl when her cellphone rang.

She wiped her damp hands against her jeans and pulled out the phone. The phone number read 'Unavailable'.

"Emma Swan speaking." She said.

"Ah Ms. Swan, so glad I was able to reach you." She suppressed a groan as Mr. Gold's pleasant Scottish accent invaded her ear.

"You're actually calling me? Normally you just barge into my apartment, what warrants the house call? Have you been robbed, again?" She asked. There was a slight pause and then Mr. Gold chuckled.

"You've hit the nail on the head, Ms. Swan."

"Again?" She groaned, "You've really got to invest in a better security system Gold because you seem to be on everybody's shit list. What went missing?" she asked. She was positive that Mr. Gold wasn't going to directly answer her question and in fact was going to make up some excuse about how it was a private matter, discretion was the name of the game, he didn't feel comfortable using a phone (or any piece of technology made after the 1880s) and wouldn't she be a dear and come down to the shop.

"My utmost apologizes Ms. Swan but I don't feel comfortable discussing this matter over the phone. Could you come to the shop? We can discuss the matter in length there." He said.

Emma was sure if she felt triumphant for being able to successfully predict Mr. Gold's response or uncomfortable that she was able to successfully predict Mr. Gold's response. She looked at the dirty dishes in the sink and decided that they would have to wait.

"I'll be there in half an hour." She said as she grabbed her sheriff's jacket off of the coat rack.

"Wonderful. I look forward to seeing you then." Mr. Gold said before hanging up.

Emma looked at her cellphone in disgust; Mr. Gold always had to have the last word. She shoved the phone back into her pocket and set about getting ready for the day ahead.

A robbery at Mr. Gold's pawn shop, just another day in idyllic Storybrooke.

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><p>She carefully wiggled her way through the dog door that had been careless left unlocked. She straightened up and looked around at her surroundings. The house was quiet except for the low thrum of the heater. The kitchen clock, a smiling cat whose tail ticked off the seconds, grinned at her and read 3:37. She stared unblinking into its glassy plastic made in Taiwan eyes until her eyes watered.<p>

Or had they already been watering? She wasn't sure but she was certain they weren't tears. We don't shed tears she thought.

She briefly considered stealing the clock so she could throw it off the troll bridge but caution beat out wrath in the emotional turmoil tournament, so she left it there on the kitchen wall to smile its stiff cat smile.

She was careful to be quiet least she wake up the house's occupants. She wished that people in this town actually left to go on holidays or vacations so that she could thieve in peace but that seemed to never be the case here in Storybrooke.

She began randomly opening cupboards, searching for the one item she truly needed. She quietly high fived the air when she stumbled upon several tins of cat food. She stuffed them into her forest green knapsack, they clicked together as she stood and arched her back.

She then went over to the drying rack and grabbed a large plastic bowl that was still damp from its recent cleaning. She also slipped that into her knapsack as well. It sat awkwardly in her pack and she could feel it digging into her shoulder blades.

She made her way to the refrigerator which she opened with slight trepidation. She recoiled back slightly as the light beamed directly into her eyes. The cool breeze of the refrigerator rolled over her skin. She could feel goose bumps beginning to form on her arms. 'It feels like someone's talking about my grave.' Her mother used to say when ever she'd get goose bumps. Her mother never met an expression that she couldn't mangle; she had been the patron saint of malapropisms.

Just thinking about her mother made her heart tighten as if squeezed in a vice. She tried to shake off the feeling as if she were a dog casually shaking off fleas. It didn't work. She could still feel it deep within her, burrowing into her skin.

"You've got a job to do. You've got to move and groove." She whispered to herself as she looked over the contents of the fridge. She grabbed a few apples and carrots from the crisper and took the loaf of insubstantial looking white bread as well. She then proceeded to open a few Tupper wear containers and scarfed down a few pieces of ham that didn't smell too off.

It was at that moment she realized that she was being watched. She looked over and saw a portly chocolate lab staring at her. Its brown face was speckled with gray fur and it looked at her through watery, curious eyes.

She tentatively reached out her hand and scratched the dog behind its velvety soft ears. She then offered it a piece of ham which it happily ate. It pressed its wet nose against her neck and clumsily hit her with its tail as it happily basked in this unexpected midnight attention.

"Aren't you sweet?" she softly cooed as she ran her hands through the dog's coarse coat. "Oh, I could eat you up I love you so." She said when the dog unfurled its clumsy pink tongue and began to lavish wet sticky kisses on her cheeks. As soon as the dog began to cover her in moist undivided affection, she quickly launched herself forward and wrapped her arms around the dog's neck and pulled it close. She shoved her face into its soft musty fur and sobbed.

After a minute she pulled away and composed herself. She wiped away the loose strands of the dog hair that were clinging to her cheeks and slowly stood up. She gave the dog one last pet on the head then closed the refrigerator and let herself out the back door and into the cool night.

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><p>Sorry if it seems a bit slow moving. I promise that things are going to pick up in the next chapter. Also this chapter would have never been completed had EnigmaSphynix not spurred me to action. Thanks Enigma! I do appreciate reviews, so please review. Or don't. Whatever floats your metaphorical boat.<p> 


	3. Business Burgled by Brutish Bandit

This chapter is devoted to my fish, Sandor Clegane, who is a terrible creature. I'm hoping that if I dedicate this chapter to him, he'll stop being such a prick.

Also I don't own "Once Upon a Time" because if I did there would be an entire episode devoted entirely to tailor who makes all of Regina's cleavage enhancing gowns. That man/lady is truly an evil visionary.

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><p>Chapter Three: "Business Burgled by Brutish Bandit"<p>

Emma braced herself for a moment before entering Mr. Gold's pawn shop and gave herself the usual dealing with Mr. Gold pep talk.

"It's going to be frustrating.' She told herself. 'And you're going to want to punch Mr. Gold so hard that he chokes on his flashy gold tooth, but you know this and that's ok. You just have to know that you never know with Mr. Gold.'

Emma slammed open the wooden door, taking petty satisfaction when the small brass bell rang out with a distressed 'clang' as it smashed repeatedly against the door frame.

She waited a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dim gloom that permanently engulfed the little pawn shop. She looked around the shop as she waited for Mr. Gold to hobble out of his back room. She thought she heard him rustling around in the back but she had no desire to investigate further.

Emma wanted to look around the little shop and view all of the strange objects that populated the store's overcrowded shelves but staying in Mr. Gold's shop meant submitting herself to several minutes spent under Mr. Gold's watchful and excruciatingly observant gaze. Emma prided herself on being a human lie detector even when it had caused friction between her and her foster parents but Mr. Gold seemed to rival her when it came to successfully distinguishing the truth from the lies. She wasn't used to having this gift thrown back at her and she wasn't used to being the center of attention. In her experience being the center of attention meant being a target.

Emma wondered how Gold ever made any money off of his pawn shop. 'He probably doesn't.' she thought. 'People, if they could avoid it, didn't go to Mr. Gold, Mr. Gold went to them.' Emma believed that Mr. Gold had the shop simply so he could have a base of operations; a gloomy intimidating base of operations where Mr. Gold always had the advantage.

"Ah, Sheriff Swan, so nice of you to drop by. I apologize that my request was given at such short notice." Mr. Gold said as he seamlessly emerged from the back room and headed behind the counter.

He was, as always, dressed to the nines. His neatly pressed dress shirt was a deep, rich purple as was his tie and the small lapel kerchief that stiffly stood out of his pocket. Emma felt undressed compared to him. No. That was the wrong word. Underdressed. Yep, that's the correct word, underdressed.

"Gold, you know it's always my pleasure to investigate any crimes you're a part of. If it wasn't for that I'd be stuck in the sheriff's office just sitting around and answering all of Ms. Ginger's hysterical phone calls." She noticed his mouth twitch slightly. Whether it was in irritation or amusement, she couldn't really say.

"Well I'm glad that I get to keep you busy, Ms. Swan." He said. "Now if you would not mind stepping this way I can show you where the break in occurred. " He leaned heavily against his cane and stretched his arm out in deference.

Emma walked past the crowded rows of dusty antiques that vied for her attention, walked past Mr. Gold's work shop/office and was lead to the back room, a large open area for antiques whose value had yet to be assessed or pieces Mr. Gold was in no hurry to part with.

Emma noticed that the small green side door was ajar and a large rock has been used to smash open one of the small panes of glass embedded in the door.

"Did you happen to leave your key in the lock last night Gold?" Emma asked in disbelief.

"It appears so. I'm not used to criminal doings in Storybrooke. I'm quite surprised some one was foolish enough to rob my store." Gold said mildly as he nudged the fallen glass with his foot.

"Especially after the example you set with Moe French." Emma said as she looked around. She heard Mr. Gold chuckle. Emma wondered whether Mr. Gold would accuse her of misinterpreting the situation and spin an elaborate tale which would cast him in a more positive light but he stayed silent. 'You don't worry about crime because you're involved in most of it.' She thought as she slowly circled the crime scene.

"Gold, I'd recommend investing in a security system that can't be bested by a rock or a particularly large pebble. Oh, and you might want to get a key rack as well." She said.

Emma stared at the ground for a few moments. Half formed muddy foot prints had been left behind on the concrete floor. They lead toward s the main room before fading and disappearing completely. She bent down to get a closer look.

"Such wise suggestions sheriff, I'll make sure to implement them right away." Mr. Gold said as walked over to the damaged door and made a low tsk noise. "It's such a nice door." He said as he slowly ran his hand over the worn, soft wood, the deep wreathing wood grain showing through the thin coat of green paint. "I'll have to see if Marco can fix it as soon as possible.

Emma gave him halfhearted "Sure, yeah." as she looked over the foot prints. The mud was dark red and thick like oil paint that had been clumsily squeezed out of a tube and there were small flakes of mica embedded in it that flickered and flashed in light.

"These are footprints!" she said, suddenly.

Mr. Gold looked at her quizzically. He smiled and said, "As opposed to what Ms. Swan, hoof prints, hand prints?"

"No, I mean these are honest to God footprints. Not shoe prints or boot prints. You were robbed by someone who wasn't wearing any shoes."

Mr. Gold looked slightly taken aback but quickly rearranged his features so they just revealed someone who was mildly curious about the recent turn of events.

"Thank Christ Sidney no longer works for the Mirror or else tomorrows head line would have read 'Barefoot Bandit Burglarizes Business'." Mr. Gold said mocking the overly long and alliteration filled headlines that Sidney had taken joy in constructing.

"Business Man Bothered By Barefoot Break In." Emma offered as she stood up. She winced as her back trembled at the sudden change in altitude and position. "Did you see the headline he once used for me? 'Ex-jail Bird Emma Swan Birthed Babe behind Bars'." She said. Emma was never going to forget that piece of alliterative garbage that had been used as a wedge against her and Henry.

"I remember that issue of the Mirror. I'm sure that no one paid it any attention; they were probably more interested in the pumpkin weekends that were being advertised. Don't be so narcissistic Ms. Swan." Mr. Gold chided as he walked towards Emma and stared at the footprints.

"If they didn't read the headline they sure as hell saw that terrible mug shot that I took."

"Well, I am quite glad that my mug shot never made the front page of the Mirror. Regina probably would have cut it out and pasted it into a scrapbook for posterity's sake."

"Your mug shot wasn't that bad. I've certainly seen worse." Emma said, enjoying the easy going conversation that was taking place between the two of them. It was less nerve fraying then the usual conversations they had where Emma always felt ten steps behind and two seconds too late.

"That is very kind of you to say. It's actually the first photograph I have had taken of me in a very long time." He said.

"I've still got the original at the office. We'll print off a dozen and you can send them out as your next Christmas card." She joked. His smile, which a few moments ago had actually seemed genuine, froze for a moment, and now seemed plastered in place by muscles that were well versed in subterfuge and deceit. Emma was positive that he was about the change the subject.

"Unfortunately." He began. He stopped himself as if this topic was a particularly dangerous mine field and he was drafting up a plan of attack. He started again, "That would be a very short list mailing list. In fact it would be nonexistent. I no longer have any family to speak of." He absent mindedly rubbed the top of his cane with his thumb, never drawing his gaze away from Emma but still managed to look a million miles away.

"Shit. Sorry." She apologized. "But hey." She said trying to lighten the mood. "I'm an orphan, so, if anyone can understand where you're coming from, it's me."

Mr. Gold studied her for a moment, trying to read her intentions. A few agonizingly silent moments passed before Mr. Gold broke out into an actual smile. It was bright and exuded warmth and lite up all of his features; making him seem warmer and softer. The unaffectedly sincere smile smoothed out all of his harsh, sharp edges and made him seem approachable. Emma was briefly tempted to reach out and take his hand in hers. Emma then realized that every other smile he had thrown her way had just been a facial reflex, an expression used simply because protocol and social decorum required it, not because he felt she had warranted it.

She quickly looked down at the muddy tracks and willed away the blush that was quickly spreading across her checks as if it was a forest fire consuming dry brambles. Her mouth felt dry and her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. She cleared her throat. It came out a harsh barking choke that disrupted the pleasant silence. "So," she said awkwardly transitioning the conversation to terrain she was more comfortable navigating, "What was stolen?"

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><p>What another update in less than a month? What kind of witch craft is this? The black voodoo? The wet jigsaw puzzle? No, I've just been trying to be less of a shit and more productive with my time. I've also recently changed my medication so I'm no longer trapped in a crippling sad spiral of depression. So, I've got that going for me.<p>

I'm going to try and update as soon as possible so this story can really start to pick up momentum.

Reviews are appreciated.


	4. Gold and Swan are on the Case

Chapter Four is dedicated to my Macedonia readers.

I also just want to assure everyone that I did rate this story M for a reason and that reason wasn't just so I could type fuck and shit a whole lot without people getting cross at me. There will be sex. And there will (probably) be violence. Just not now.

I don't own "Once Upon a Time" because if I did that would mean that I had a cock. And that would just be weird.

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><p>Chapter Four: "Gold and Swan are on the Case"<p>

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><p>"So, what was stolen?" Emma asked as she pulled out the small moleskin notebook that she kept nestled in her jacket pocket. She ran her finger tips over the soft cover, trying to calm herself down by tracing the subtle impressions in the slick material.<p>

'This was supposed to be a normal day,' she mused to herself. 'I was going to eat a bowl of cereal with that awful watery fat free milk that Mary Margaret insists on buying and then I was going to go to the office and pretend to work until Henry visited me. This is not that day, no; this is not my fucking day.'

Mr. Gold walked over to the row of shelves nearest to the side door and laid a hand on the middle shelf. Emma walked over to him and peered at the odd assortment of items that were bunched together. There was a dusty porcelain tiger with a lopsided painted face, a half evaporated snow globe and a china doll that was so chipped and cracked, Emma thought that if she breathed on the doll it'd shatter into pieces. In the middle of this bizarre collection of items was a large gap.

"It was a bronze dagger." Mr. Gold said while placing his hand where the dagger had been nestled. "It's not a particularly valuable piece and it doesn't have any truly unique features that would make it one of a kind. The only odd thing about the dagger was that it was one of the few pieces I own that was pawned to me." He said while whipping the dust from his fingers.

"Do you remember who sold it to you?" Emma asked as she jotted down the words 'bronze dagger' and 'pawned' into her notebook.

"It would be impossible for me to forget, I acquired it during a rather unusual situation." Mr. Gold stopped for a moment and looked at Emma. "Why don't we move this conversation into my office? We've already learned all we're going to here." He didn't give Emma time to respond but proceeded to limp towards the door.

It was then that Emma noticed the slight change in his gait. Normally Mr. Gold was all smoothness and silk but now Emma was witnessing the flaws in his perfect façade. It was apparent (in the way his bicep strained and tightened as it gripped the cane for additional support, the way his foot scrapped against the floor as he became unable to lift it up, and how the usual step and slid motion he employed became less graceful and more ungainly as he worked harder to move forward) that he was in pain.

Emma tried not to feel any sympathy for Mr. Gold. Things were much easier for her when she only felt contempt and irritation for Mr. Gold, but then nothing was ever easy. Everything was complicated and each time Emma had thought she understood what the hell was going on ever solid well regarded truth she'd held dear became intangible and slipped quietly through her fingers, like smoke, leaving behind only the ashes of her previous assumptions.

As Emma followed Mr. Gold to his office she jotted down the things that she knew to be truth about the man that she was following. Mr. Gold is wealthy. Mr. Gold is complicated. She underlined that one several times. Mr. Gold is Scottish. Mr. Gold has a limp. She then wrote in large blocky letters the one truth she needed to remind herself of at all times; Mr. Gold is cunning.

She shoved the ballpoint pen back into her side pants pocket and tucked the notebook into her large jacket pocket. She noticed that the ink had leaked onto her fingers, leaving large black smears that sunk into the whorls of her fingertips. She rubbed her fingers together turning the dark pools of ink into long smudges that devoured her index finger and thumb. She shoved her right hand into her pocket, so Mr. Gold wouldn't see the stains and closed the thick oak door of the office with her left hand as Mr. Gold took a seat behind his desk.

Emma sat down in the straight back chair and pretended that she was at ease and comfortable here in the cozy little back room. She was positive that she wasn't successful in this endeavor.

Mr. Gold unlocked one of the small desk drawers with the tiniest key from his oversized and clunky key ring and pulled out a large leather bound ledger. He gently placed it onto the desk and flipped through the thick, cream colored pages until he landed on the right spot.

"Here it is." He said, while tapping his finger on a particularly long hand written entry. Emma cocked her head and squinted at the hand writing but could hardly make out anything from the spidery small scrawl that took up half the page.

"The dagger was one of a few pieces that were pawned by Aria de Noble." He looked up at her, as if the name spoke for itself.

"Is that supposed to mean something?" she asked as she looked at the ledger. She noticed that there were several smaller subentries written down as well. Mr. Gold's writing was very similar to Mr. Gold, showy and hard to read. Mr. Gold gave her a thin smile.

"Sometimes I forget that you're not well versed in Storybrooke's vastly unimpressive history. It's rather refreshing really." He said as he turned the ledger around so that Emma could few it unimpaired. Their fingers brushed together for a brief moment. Emma violently shoved away the brief desire she had to let their fingers linger for a few moments and pulled away quickly. She refused to look at Mr. Gold, not wanting to read the way he was interpreting the situation.

"Aria de Noble's father is Basil de Noble. He is the owner and operator of the Storybrooke cannery. And as cliché as it sounds, Aria is the black sheep of the de Noble family. I believe that your predecessor Graham had several run ins with her over the course of a few years. I dare say you could probably find some of the old case files back in your office. That is if Mr. de Noble didn't suppress them. He didn't like there to be a paper trail when it came to his daughters various mishaps." Mr. Gold explained. He reached out his hand and pointed to a specific entry.

"Aria de Noble sold several items to me on October the 30th. I believe that was a few days after your arrival Ms. Swan. They were mostly trinkets, the sort of objects that a young girl might mistakenly think are priceless antiques but are merely interesting looking, if common, baubles." Mr. Gold explained as he took the ledger back from Emma. He cradled it gently in his hands as he looked over the page.

"Every single transaction that I have ever made, every deal that was struck, I keep recorded in here. When I flip through these pages, I'm not just looking at my various business transactions but I'm looking through my entire life. " He said as he casually flicked through the pages. "I suppose, I'm just a sentimentalist."

Emma thought that there were plenty of words you could use to describe Mr. Gold some of them were diplomatically kind and others were much harsher but sentimentalist wasn't one of them. As if he noticed Emma's look of confusion, he set the book back down on his desk and pressed his fingers together.

"I apologize for digressing the only reason I mentioned that is because meticulous record keeping as always served its purpose especially in this case. October 30th, when Aria sold me her trinkets, was the last day that anyone saw her."

"You're telling me that someone has been missing in Storybrooke for almost five months and no one has decided that this was an important topic to discuss with me, the sheriff?" Emma asked. She gritted her teeth together and wished that Graham, as cute and sweet as he had been, had kept better records or any records at all.

"Yes, it would seem that Storybrooke just loves to keep its secrets to itself. I was the last person to see her, unfortunately. My guess would be that she left Storybrooke except, as you might have noticed Ms. Swan, nobody ever leaves Storybrooke." He said grimly.

It was true, Emma thought; Storybrooke was a giant magnet and its inhabitants were just small metal shavings that were too thin and unsubstantial to escape its unbreakable pull.

"Are you saying that Aria's disappearance and the dagger being stolen are connected?" Emma asked.

Mr. Gold sighed and twisted the large chunky gold ring on his right index finger. "I'm not saying that, Ms. Swan, because there's no evidence to support such a statement. I just think that it is a particularly strange coincidence that both Aria and her dagger have gone missing."

"And cats." Emma said.

'I beg your pardon, did you say cats?" Mr. Gold asked, edging forward in his seat. He was gripping the edge of his desk so hard that his knuckles were raised and an ashy off white.

"Yeah, Archie said he and some of his neighbors haven't seen their cats recently."

"Jesus fucking Christ." Mr. Gold softly swore.

"Is there something you're not telling me? And don't say no because we both know that would be bullshit." Emma said.

She was sick of waltzing around the truth with Mr. Gold because never knew the steps and she always had to follow his lead. Emma never did cotillion, and all of her moves had been learned from ex-bounty hunters and ill-advised hook ups with guys she'd picked up in biker bars. Emma knew a lot of steps but none of them were the fucking Watusi.

"It's just that I'm a cat person. I hate to think what someone might do to those poor creatures." He said through gritted teeth. Emma could see that there was some truth to what he was saying but that statement was loaded with so much hidden meaning she was positive that she'd need a pot of coffee, a decoder ring and seven days to figure it all out.

"Yeah." She said. "Cats." They stared at each other in silence for several seconds.

"You should speak with Basil de Noble. See if he knows anything else about his daughter. Tell him that because of Graham's death you're re-opening the case." Mr. Gold instructed her.

"Good, I'll head over there right now." She was about to get up and leave when Mr. Gold interrupted her.

"I wouldn't advise that. Basil will never allow you to make an appointment with him. He's a rather secretive bastard and if there is one topic he despises discussing it is his daughter. But you can always ambush him; corner him so he has to speak with you." Mr. Gold said

Emma was positive that this was only the first part of a much larger plan that Mr. Gold had already crafted before he had even called Emma. She didn't even bother to respond, just waited for Mr. Gold to continue explaining his multi-stepped plan of attack.

"Basil is holding a dinner party tomorrow night for all of the Golden Lion Cannery's shareholders."

Emma interrupted him before he could continue. "And let me guess, you just so happen to own quite a few Golden Lion shares."

"What can I say Ms. Swan, I do so love supporting local businesses. I shall attend the dinner and you will accompany me has my guest. We can ambush him there, giving him no alternative but to talk to us." Mr. Gold said.

Emma realized at once that Mr. Gold had just asked her out on a date, except that he hadn't asked her. This was not a request but a simple matter of fact. It was as if he had said, 'The sky is blue', 'The earth is round', and 'You're going to accompany me to a stuffy dinner party while wearing an uncomfortable evening gown and you are going to like it.'

"Hold on one second. I'll brush aside the fact that you just assumptively asked me out on a date, but why are we doing this together? What interest do you have in any of this? You just said the dagger wasn't worth anything to you. If you're doing this simply so you can set an example to your burglar a la Moe French, then I'm dissolving this fucked up partnership before it even begins." Emma said flatly.

Mr. Gold put his hands up in a mock display of surrender and answered her question.

"Aria was a very nice girl. She was also a very troubled girl. And when she came into my shop she was, well, distraught would be putting it kindly. I should have offered her assistance rather than allowing her to take the paltry sum that I offered her. Helping you with this case, helps us find Aria, and finding that girl would help ease the guilt that I've felt over the past few months." Mr. Gold placed one hand against his heart. "I promise you, Ms. Swan, this is the only reason I am offering my assistance. I have considerable resources; it would be foolish of you to pass up this opportunity."

"Yes, because every time that the crack team of Gold and Swan have been on the case, everything has gone peachy keen. Gold and Swan have teamed up and a building has burned down. Gold and Swan are on the case and a florist has been beaten. Gold and Swan are on the case, and their only client has gone missing. Yeah, our collaborative track record is fantastic." Emma said sarcastically as she leaned back in her chair.

You do not want to do this, Emma thought to herself. Mr. Gold doesn't do collaborative; in fact Mr. Gold likes being secretive and withholding pertinent information. Mr. Gold views a partnership like it's a symbiotic relationship except in this case the shark always ended up eating the remora fish after it had exhausted its use.

"My, you are quite the cynic Ms. Swan. You are forgetting the positive things that we've done together such as getting you elected sheriff as well as making sure that Ms. Blanchard was not prosecuted for any crimes." Mr. Gold countered. "Now this is going to be a formal occasion and you won't be able to wear your usual red leather jacket and a bad attitude ensemble that you're so fond of."

Emma scowled at him. "Contrary to popular opinion I do own a dress. I'll be fine." Emma said pointedly.

"Oh, I harbor no doubts what so ever, Ms. Swan. I am sure that you will look stunning, as you always do." Mr. Gold reassured her.

Emma then realized that the finger she'd been using to gesture emphatically with was the one stained from tip to palm in black ink. She shoved it back into her pocket and acted as if she wasn't nonplussed.

"Well, I'm positive that you have much to do today in light of all of this new information. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow night and if I find out anything I will be sure to inform you and I'm positive that you'll extend the same courtesy to me. Have a good day, Emma." Mr. Gold shook her hand as if their relationship was entirely profession and not one built on half-truths and one-upmanship. Emma drew her hand out of his calloused grip and exited the shop with only a nod of acknowledgement and a brief wave goodbye.

The sky was still over cast and spring seemed to be a million months away instead of just around the corner. The streets of downtown Storybrooke were deserted and Emma felt incredibly alone standing on the sidewalk in the frigid gloomy weather.

She walked back to her office, pretending that this bevy of new information had shined a light on this mystery, instead of enveloping it in obfuscating darkness.

"I fucking hate this town."

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><p>I greatly appreciate it when you take the time to review this story, thank you reviewers. All of you are pretty cool.<p>

Chapter five should be published soon and it includes the following things: Emma in a dress, Mr. Gold and Emma on a date, the Storybrooke elite, hors d'oeuvres, and a shocking revelation.


	5. Nothing But Static

This chapter is dedicated to my lifelong friend and companion: alcoholism.

I want to thank everyone for reviewing this story. It really means a lot to me when you give me your feedback.

Also, I've illustrated some of the OCs so if you want to see them, send me a pm and I'll give you a link.

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><p>Chapter Five: Nothing But Static<p>

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><p>Neither of them spoke as Mr. Gold drove deeper into the forest. The small suburban neighborhood with its Victorian Tudor homes and cute ranch one levels were now fewer and far between. In fact the further they drove the larger the houses became and the farther apart they were.<p>

When Emma could no longer bear the silence she decided to violate passenger protocol and turned on the radio. Mr. Gold said nothing, eyes still intently fixed on the winding road ahead as Emma desperately searched for music, talk radio, anything to break the oppressing silence. But, no matter how much Emma fiddled with the radio's ancient nobs it only produced waves of soft static.

"I'm afraid we don't receive any stations here in Storybrooke." Mr. Gold said as he flicked off the radio. Emma hummed in response and stared out the window.

It was dark outside and so cloudy that not even a single star shown down upon them. Even the moon was hidden away behind the cloud curtain and refused to illuminate the darkness. Emma didn't believe in fairy tales, ominous signs or superstitions but even her logical mind couldn't shake the heavy feeling in her chest that everything was about to become very unpleasant very fast.

Eventually they turned off the main road onto a small paved drive way which snaked and wheeled around the massive trees that occupied the de Noble estate. In the distance the lights of the de Noble's mansion beckoned them forward.

Several other cars were already parked in front of the somber brick manor.

Mr. Gold motioned for Emma to stay in the car then proceeded to hobble over and open the door for her.

A mousy little man took the keys to Mr. Gold's black Cadillac. He tipped his hat to them and rushed to drive the car to its new parking spot.

Emma slipped her arm around Mr. Gold's bicep and followed his lead. Emma felt out of place as they walked through the long and dark corridor that was full of gloomy portraits of previous de Nobles. All of them looked the same: long slender necks, equine features that an unkind person might call horsey and dark shocks of thick wild hair. Each of them looked like potential heroes and heroines of a gothic romance. The kind of romances where everyone ended up dead or insane.

Emma remembered her ninth grade English class. She had always made a big show of sneering at her teacher and had much rather preferred to cut class and smoke poorly rolled cigarettes in the girl's gym bathroom or make out in the back of Tommy Ferrety's black corvette with the red leather interior while listening to Iron Maiden. Emma had pretended to despise the class with its irrelevant books by long dead authors but secretly she gobbled them up. She'd read them in secret under the covers of her small bed using the Maglite she'd stolen from the sport's emporium. She'd been particularly fascinated with Heathcliff and Catherine from "Wuthering Heights", especially their wild passion and the bitter betrayals that they'd recklessly thrown at each other. Each de Noble looked like they could have portrayed either Heathcliff or Catherine.

"They're sure a happy looking bunch of people." Emma said.

"The de Nobles are well known for their business acumen rather than their cheerful dispositions." Mr. Gold replied.

"Good to know."

As they continued to walk down the hall Emma was struck by one of the more modern portraits. It was a painting of a dark and dour man (clearly a de Noble) and his wife who looked effervescently light and bubbly. She was beaming in their picture and her blond hair shone, whether that was accurate or an artistic embellishment Emma couldn't say. The lovely woman's presence seemed to brighten and soften her husband's sterner features.

"That's Basil de Noble and his wife Katherine." Mr. Gold said pointing at the picture with his cane.  
>"And that's Aria." He said gesturing to a smaller picture next to it.<p>

The girl in the adjacent portrait had the same bright corn silk soft hair as her mother but instead of making her look bright and shimmery it made Aria look gaunt and wane. The lightness of her hair just emphasized the darkness of her eyes and the gauntness of her cheeks. She had the same long face and dark eyes and lips as her father and the other de Nobles. She looked like a Pre Raphaelite saint or someone about to die of consumption.

"She looks so happy." Emma said drily.

"She's been an unhappy girl since her mother passed away." Mr. Gold said. Emma sensed that he wanted to say more but they had already arrived at the end of the hallway and a butler was forcefully ushering them into the main room.

As the door opened Emma was instantly hit with the sound of polite conversation and glasses happily clicking together.

"Oh Gold so nice to see you." A voice cooed as soon as they entered the room. A tall well put together woman instantly descended upon the odd couple. She was an older woman, tall with a severe white bob and she was wearing a tight blue sequined dress that she seemed to be on the verge of falling out of. She was clutching a large glass full of bourbon in one well-manicured hand.

She proceeded to give Mr. Gold air kisses, which he dutifully endured, while simultaneously balancing her glass of bourbon.

"And who is this lovely creature you've brought with you?" She asked.

Mr. Gold clutched Emma tightly and Emma smiled trying to project the appearance of a happy couple.

"Veronica Winters, Emma Swan, Emma Swan, Veronica Winters." Mr. Gold said.

"Please call me Ronnie, nobody does."

"It is very nice to meet you Ronnie." Emma said politely as she shook Ronnie's hand. She was mildly surprised by how cold Ronnie's grip was.

"Oh, wait. I know you, you're the sheriff. Oh God you are too much. Regina and Basil are going to love you." She said gleefully before breaking out into harsh barking peals of laughter that contrasted with her delicate, well put together appearance.

"This is sure to be one of Basil's more memorable affairs." She said while fishing out a cigarette from her tiny sequined purse. She held the cigarette tightly between her teeth while she fished out a cheap BIC lighter. Both Mr. Gold and Emma stared at her with morbid curiosity. She lite the cigarette and then began to blow long streams of smoke.

"How long do you think it'll take before someone asks me to put this out?" She asked giddily. She shrugged. "Doesn't really matter much anyway. Oh, I've got to run; I see my ex-husband and the woman he left me for. I'm going to go make awkward, painful small talk with them. Toddles." She said while finishing off her bourbon and thrusting the empty glass into the hands of the nearby server.

"What the hell?" Emma asked in confusion.

"Veronica Winters owns and operates the Storybrooke Mirror. She, is, truly one of a kind." He explained.

They both looked over and saw Ronnie talking to an uncomfortable looking couple who looked off put by the giddy Ronnie who was blowing large smoke rings at them and laughing at something only she found amusing.

"Would you like a drink Ms. Swan? Fabulous." He said before letting her finish and left her alone with the Storybrooke elite.

Emma wandered around the parlor, trying to see if she recognized anyone at the party. She wasn't sure. Every woman looked the same with their tight up does, pearl necklaces and low necklines. Every one of them was wearing designer dresses in blacks, dark blues and creamy off whites, well except for the eccentric Ms. Winters whose blue sequined dress barely constituted clothing. Emma felt out of place in her lavender party dress that showed too much leg and her blonde hair cascading down her back and shoulders.

"Ms. Swan what are you doing here?" A thin voice growled. It made Emma feel like she had been garroted with piano wire.

Emma plastered a grin on her face and pivoted around, only wobbly slightly because of her chunky high heels.

"Regina, so good to see you." Emma said pleasantly.

"Answer the question Swan." Regina snapped. Emma could see that she was gripping the stem of her wine glass so tightly that Emma was surprised that the glass hadn't shattered.

Suddenly Emma felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Ms. Swan is my guest tonight. And I expect you to be on your best behavior Regina." Mr. Gold said. Regina's red mouth turned down sharply at the corners.

"She's your date?" Regina said flatly. Emma placed her hand on top of Mr. Gold's and smiled.

"Yep." She said.

Regina snorted and took a long draught from her wine glass.

"Really? Well, you certainly have excellent taste in women, Gold." Regina smirked. "Let's hope that this relationship lasts longer than the other one."

Emma felt Mr. Gold's grip tighten on her shoulder. She grimaced and subtly tried to pry herself out of Mr. Gold's iron grip.

It was no use, he was like a vice.

"Well, as always it's been a pleasure Regina. My lovely date and I are going to go mingle. Perhaps we can continue this conversation later." He said icily. Emma turned her head to see his expression. His eyes were narrowed and the usual pleasant banality that he cultivated as his sole expression was replaced with furious displeasure. He reminded Emma of a feral animal.

Regina didn't look pleased with this new development and opened her mouth to continue the conversation. Mr. Gold quickly cut her off with a terse, "Please, Ms. Miller, let's continue this later."

Regina scowled. She flashed a tight unhappy smile and gave a curt nod before turning away to socialize with the other guests.

"I have never seen anyone intimidate Regina like that." Emma said in amazement. Mr. Gold released her shoulder from his grip and instead placed his hand gently against the small of her back.

"Regina and I have known each other for a very long time." He said putting particularly deep inflection on the word 'very'. "After a while you learn how her mind ticks and how you can persuade her to pursue different courses of action." Mr. Gold said as he led them through the crowd.

"I'm sorry about your shoulder Ms. Swan. I let my temper get the best of me." He said softly as he looked at the red hand print that was beginning to blossom against her skin.

"You really don't like Regina discussing your past, do you?" Emma asked.

"The woman is infuriating and doesn't know when to shut her mouth. That ego of hers will be her undoing." Mr. Gold muttered.

He brushed thin gold strands off of Emma's shoulder and gently rubbed the warm slightly raised skin.

"It should disappear shortly. Again, I sincerely apologize for my actions."

"Don't mention it. Seriously, don't." Emma said kindly while gently patting his hand.

A burst of hyenaesque laughter pierced their tender moment and they turned to see Ronnie Winters throwing her head back in childlike glee. The group of people she was standing with looked upset and Regina in particular looked displeased. Winters caught Emma's eye and gave her an exaggerated wink which caused her to break out into more violent and piercing peals of laughter.

"At least someone's enjoying themselves." Mr. Gold murmured.

"I thought you were getting drinks?" Emma asked.

"My apologizes when I saw you being confronted by Regina I abandoned by mission." Mr. Gold signaled to a waiter who seemed to appear almost out of thin air.

"Two Macallans, neat." The server nodded politely and went off to fetch their drinks.

"So you picked up that I'm a scotch girl. What gave me away?" Emma asked.

"That half opened bottle of MacCutchens in your apartment, plus, you're much too interesting to be a white wine spritzer kind of woman."

"I forgot that you fucking know everything." Emma said more light heartedly then she had intended.

The server handed them their full scotch glasses complete with small red drink napkins that made it awkward to hold everything in one hand. With Mr. Gold holding both the Scotch and his cane, Emma was the only one between them with a free hand. She used this freedom to grab the crook of his arm and whisper into his ear, "Is that Basil de Noble." She tilted her head towards a man standing by a large ornate fireplace.

"Yes, that's our man of the hour. He'll keep a low profile until he's ready to make a flashy introduction. I guarantee it."

Mr. de Noble was still standing on the fringes of the crowd. He was sipping brandy and watching the proceedings with a clinical eye.

"He looks thrilled to be here." Emma said sarcastically as she watched Basil quietly slip out of the parlor via a side door.

"The de Nobles have always hosted an annual cocktail party to celebrate their successes. Basil may not like the sudden intrusion on his territory but he's a stickler for tradition so he pretends to be a happy host and allows us free reign of his manner for one night." Mr. Gold explained as he sipped his scotch.

"We should follow him." Emma said.

Mr. Gold neither agreed nor disagreed with her, saying, "I'll follow your lead."

They held each other tightly and walked towards the side door.

A server walked over as if to stop them from proceeding but Emma merely shoved her scotch glass into his hand saying, "Oh thank you, you're too kind." Mr. Gold followed suit and they exited the ballroom, leaving the baffled server behind with his hands full.

They entered another long corridor. It was dimly lit and full of paintings of various depressing landscapes. Emma struggled to keep her balance as her shoes kept sinking into the plush carpet. She gripped Mr. Gold's arm for support. She was impressed that someone with a cane was able to be so strong and supportive

A door near the end of the hall was partly open and the light streaming out of it was welcome sight.

They walked through the door. It was a vast library filled with mahogany shelves crammed with large leather bound volumes. The room smelled like soft leather and dusty pages. Mr. de Noble was resting in a large leather arm chair, smoking a foul smelling cigar and ideally flipping through a paper back novel. He didn't notice them as they approached.

Mr. Gold interrupted the silence. "Basil, so good to see you." He said politely.

Basil slowly closed the book and looked up at Mr. Gold and Emma.

"Mr. Gold, it is nice to see you as well." He said. His voice was warm and harsh like cheap bourbon. He didn't look happy to see them at all. He didn't bother to get up from his arm chair. He simply puffed on his cigar and waited for them to make the first move.

"Hello Mr. de Noble. My name is Emma Swan. I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting yet." Emma said, introducing herself.

Basil looked at her stoically, still not moving from his throne. "Ms. Swan, you would be the new sheriff. I was very sad to hear about Graham's passing. So tragic." He said still speaking in a dull monotone.

"Yes it was very tragic." Emma said putting extra inflection on the word tragic to make up for Basil's lack of sympathy. "Because of Graham's passing I've had the difficult task of making sure that I'm taking care of everything Graham was investigating. I say difficulty because Graham didn't keep orderly records. In fact one of the cases I'm currently reopening is the disappearance of Aria de Noble." Emma said.

Basil looked at her thoughtfully his face a carefully put together mask. "You're investigating my daughter's disappearance." He said mildly.

"Yes and I wanted to ask you a few questions." Emma said.

Basil stood up, he was much taller than his portrait implied. He took three long strides before standing in front of Emma. He towered over the unusual couple.

"My daughter is a very sick girl. She is violent, she's delusional and she has the most wonderful talent of creating large scale public relations nightmares. I reported her missing to Graham; that was five months ago. At this point, I don't think you're going to find her. She's probably long gone by now." Basil said his voice rising the longer he spoke.

"Don't you care about her?"

"Of course I fucking do." He barked. "I followed the proper channels, I did everything I could to find my Aria, so don't point your finger at me, Sheriff Swan. I would love to find my daughter; she's the only family that I have left. But at this point continuing her search would just reopen the wounds that I've been trying so desperately to let heal. The likely hood of her being alive is incredibly slim. If you want to continue this investigation, if you want to create some fucking media circus, rope that horrible Veronica Winters into this mess, well then so be it. But, do not accuse me of being a bad father and do not let this interfere with my business. The cannery employs almost half the population of Storybrooke. If anything was to happen to it, to me, this town would suffer an economic collapse it would never recover from." He snarled.

"Are you threatening me?" Emma coldly asked.

"I'm not threatening you. I'm just giving you the facts. And there is nothing wrong with that. Now, I've got to go greet my guests. I'd appreciate it if you would rejoin the others and keep your mouth shut about this matter." He said patronizingly before storming out of the library.

"Well that went better than I thought it would." Mr. Gold said.

"He's not telling the truth." Emma said simply as she led Mr. Gold out of the library.

"About what?" Mr. Gold asked.

"He thinks she's alive. I think he has proof but then why doesn't he want us to find her. We could help him." She said indignantly as they walked down the hall. Emma tried to process all of this new information but all she received was a head ache for her efforts.

"Maybe he doesn't want us to find her, maybe he wants to find her first." Mr. Gold said as he tightly gripped Emma's arm. Even though the night was still young they both seemed weary.

"I think we need to find her first." Emma said softly as the neared the entrance to the main room.

"I do believe you're right, Ms. Swan." Mr. Gold said as she opened the large ornate door. They walked through the door and rejoined the party. The sound of cheerful chatter immediately surrounded them like a riptide. Emma slipped her arm around Mr. Gold's waist and held on tight as if their solidarity was the only thing keeping her from drowning. He wrapped his arm around her waist as well and they stood in quiet accord as garish happy faces flitted around them on all sides. Emma realized if she was going to solve this mystery she was absolutely going to need Mr. Gold's help and for the first time she didn't feel apprehensive about their partnership at all.

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><p>Thank you for reading chapter five. If you liked it please review because it boosts my self-esteem and makes it easier for me to write new chapters.<p> 


	6. You Can Call Me Anything You Like

This chapter is dedicated to the frogs that live outside of my apartment. You know who you are.

Disclaimer: I proclaim that I don't own shit.

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><p>Chapter 6: "You Can Call Me Anything You Like But My Name is Veronica"<p>

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><p>They wordlessly walked back to the ballroom. Basil stood in the middle of a politely appreciative crowd. Everyone dryly tittered at his bland business anecdotes, clapped when he announced record profits and twisted their plastic surgery scarred faces into the appropriate pictures of sadness when he announced the tragic passing of a beloved board member.<p>

Emma wasn't able to keep up with the roller coaster ride of emotional change ups that were taking place around her. She felt out of synch and disconnected with the real world. Her mind kept wandering to the image of a wane, tow headed teenage girl running around Storybrooke half-starved with only her bare feet and bad luck to keep her company.

Mr. Gold was just as stone faced as Emma. He was clutching a half full glass of scotch so hard that Emma was afraid that it would shatter.

After Basil had finished his speech, which had been accompanied by the appropriate level of applause, he graciously announced that dinner was to be served in the great hall.

Emma grabbed a pale faced waiter and demanded two whisky sours. When he returned she downed both of them in two sputtery gulps and shoved the glasses back into his awaiting hands.

Emma looked around the room to see where her partner in crime was and saw that Mr. Gold was chatting with perhaps a better word was besieging Veronica.

Veronica looked surprisingly serious.

Gone was the sloppy drunk smile, the exaggerated mannerisms and that god awful laugh.

"Gold this is neither the time nor the place to discuss this mater." Ronnie hissed.

Emma moved closer to the pair, positive that this was much more interested than the appetizers and polite conversation that was happening back in the dining room.

"Then where?" Gold asked.

Ronnie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "You've always had the worst timing Gold." She spat.

"I don't know what you mean Ms. Winters."

"Oh, don't you play the oblivious card with me Gold." She said. She quickly looked around the room and saw that the three of them were the only ones still in the ballroom. Satisfied that what she was about to say wasn't going to be overheard by the wrong set of ears, she continued. "You're not the only one who's escaped Regina's sphere of influence. We stand on equal ground my _little_ friend. You can't bully me like you do the rest of this town."

"Don't flatter yourself, we've never been equal. And if your memory is as prodigious as you proclaim you'll remember a deal we struck a very long time ago. You own me a favor." Mr. Gold said coldly.

Neither of them was paying any attention to Emma.

Ronnie used her height to her advantage and pulled herself up so that she towered over Gold. Emma imagined that somewhere in Ronnie's bloodline their existed connections to Valkyries or, at the very least, Nordic women with strong arms, hot tempers and cold hearts.

"A favor?" She said with mock indignation. "No,no,no,no,no. It is you who owe me." She said pointing one well-manicured finger at Mr. Gold.

"The girl is at risk." Mr. Gold simply said.

"The girl." She snorted. "It's never that simple with you Gold. It's never just a girl, just a deal, just a favor, just a spell. I know you inside and out, here and there, what's in your head and what's in your heart. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm missing a truly subpar plated dinner." She went to move towards the dining room when Mr. Gold caught her by the wrist and pulled her back towards him.

Ronnie only faltered slightly and allowed herself to be pulled down so that Gold could whisper into her ear. Eventually he released her and she looked down at him through narrowed angry icy blue eyes.

"You swear it?" Her voice was low and husky as if the words where stuck in her throat, a traffic jam of disjointed syllables, because uttering them out loud would make them true; would make them tangibly fragile and easily broken.

"I swear it." He held out his hand to seal the deal. Ronnie cautiously eyed it as if she was about to shake hands with a viper.

"Deal." She said her mouth twitching slightly as she said it, as if it were a private joke that only she understood.

They shock hands, though to Emma, it looked less like they were sealing a deal and more like they were about to begin a particularly brutal arm wrestling match.

"Don't think this makes us allies. I look out for myself and only myself." Ronnie said once she let go of Gold's hand and exaggeratedly wiped her hand on her dress.

"There's a storm coming. You'll have to choose sides. No one can remain neutral." Gold cautioned.

Ronnie shook her head ruefully causing her ear rings to jingle.

"You've always had a flair for the dramatic." She laughed.

Ronnie began to walk away then gracefully pivoted around on her thin silvery stilettos.

"You and your pet project can meet me at my house tonight at 2:00am. Don't be late."

Her gait then became looser and she adopted the sweet and sour slur she had used previously and gave a small wave and an insincere "Tootles." That she stretched out for so long it almost seemed to be composed solely of vowels.

And then she was gone.

"What was that about?" Emma asked.

Gold didn't respond just headed towards the exit. Emma wobbled after him, her feet begging for a reprieve from their high heel prison.

"What about dinner?" she asked instantly regretting drinking so much alcohol on an empty stomach.

"I'll take you somewhere else. I no longer feel comfortable here at the de Noble estate." He said.

"Yeah, sure, let's go." Emma allowed herself to be escorted to the veranda where an over eager valet pulled up with the black Cadillac. Mr. Gold generously tipped the valet and then opened Emma's door for her, a show of chivalry that Emma resented.

Emma soon cushioned herself into the front seat while Mr. Gold spent (what seemed like an eternity) readjusting the seat and mirrors caused by the lanky, long limbed valet.

Afterwards they sped away into the night driving towards Storybrooke proper and away from the upper class etiquette that had suffocated Emma. So many people telling so many lies gathered in on enclosed space had given her a migraine.

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><p>Sorry for the abrupt ending I'm having trouble with the next chapters. But I felt like an ass for not updating sooner so here is something to tide you over until I manage to fight my way out of this writer's block. The more you review the happier the feel, so, please review.<p> 


	7. Chapter 7: Tick of a Heart

This chapter is dedicated to sundancemc and Rhinegold who have spurred me on to finish another chapter.

Thanks guys, your reviews meant a lot to me.

Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT because if I did there would be more swearing.

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><p>Chapter 7: "Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick of a Heart"<p>

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><p>Emma and Gold had driven to <em>Granny's<em> for a quick dinner only to discover that Ruby had closed the restaurant early on account of her grandmother not feeling well.

They were returning to Mr. Gold's car when an intoxicated Leroy had appeared looking angry and intent on picking a fight. He had taken a swing a Mr. Gold who had easily rebuffed it since Leroy was shitfaced and seemed to inhabit a reality that operated several seconds slower than usual.

Emma halfheartedly warned Leroy that she would arrest him for drunk and disorderly if he didn't get his ass home and he'd responded to her generosity by slurring out a "Schrew you." and flipping her the bird that wavered at half-mast. They then watched him stumble off into the night, neither of them commenting on what had just occurred.

Emma thought that she probably should have hauled him into her office but her feet hurt, her strapless bra was digging into her rib cage and, well, she just didn't care. 'If he wanders into the road and gets killed by a car then I will feel guilty.' She thought to herself.

Gold then offered to take her to the poorly named Happy Endings Bar and Grill which Emma quickly declined since last time she had gone there she had ended up breaking up a particularly violent fist fight between the owner and a rowdy patron who had looked like an upside down triangle on silts. After she had thrown both of them into the back of her cruiser the owner had said, in no uncertain terms, that if she ever showed her face in his establishment again spit would be the least offensive condiment on her medium well burger.

Gold then reluctantly invited her to his home. Emma attempted to decline his generous offer but he brushed off her protests as if they were troublesome horseflies and drove them to his salmon pink Queen Anne Revival Style mansion that he called home.

He ushered her into the house, past the bric-a-brac cluttered parlor and into a hall way lined with dark wooden end tables covered in lacy runners yellowed with age with porcelain knick knacks stacked neatly atop them. The walls were also covered with wooden clocks, each one intricately carved and lovingly displayed. Each clock was completely out of synch with the others so that it created a disorienting cacophony of tocks and tick; the disharmony made Emma feel slightly nauseous and little unbalanced.

Soon Gold led them into the kitchen which was starkly different from the rest of the house.

It was simple.

Compared to the rest of the house it was practically bare.

It contained a small wooden table with two mismatching high back chairs, a sink, a stove, and an ancient hulking, avocado green refrigerator.

It was a room for one.

Emma imagined Gold eating supper at the plain wooden table, starring out at the off white plaster walls and listening to the faint symphony of time that floated in from the hallway.

The kitchen was so impersonal that it became a heartbreakingly intimate look into the soul of Mr. Gold.

This was the room of someone who was deeply alone. Who never expected an end or an interruption to his loneliness; that assumed that there would never be the possibility where space would be needed for joint breakfasts or candlelit dinners for two or noisy family lunches and sprawlingly chaotic dinner parties.

This room spoke to Emma and it screamed out 'loneliness'. She could hear it reverberating from the blank walls and the ancient whir of the ice machine.

This revelation was probably why when Mr. Gold closed the refrigerator and told her (with the self-effacing tone of the forever bachelor) that he didn't have any leftovers but he could make her a sandwich or soup or even cereal, she had responded by saying. "I love cereal." and then pulled him in for a stumbling, off center kiss.

It wasn't a great kiss. It wasn't even a very good kiss. It involved too much teeth and too little coordination to make it such but for all of its very obvious short comings it made up for it with desperate, anxious enthusiasm and lust.

When they finally broke away Mr. Gold looked at her curiously as if she was one of his curios he was struggling to price.

Emma wanted to explain that she kissed him because he was the only person in Storybrooke who she thought could understand the loneliness that had followed her all of her life like an unshakeable stutter. That he was the only person who didn't seem to want something from her and she found that pathetically appealing.

Mr. Gold didn't want her to save the day, break a curse, solve a case, and protect him from ever present dangers. He didn't want Emma's help or her cooperation. But, he was willing to bargain with her, to make arrangements, offer services and one sided favors.

Emma didn't like being at the mercy of the unknown. She didn't understand the give and take of the symbiotic relations. She was better versed in in temporary partnerships. The slippery slope of the greased palm, of turning blind eyes, and offering favors that were blanketed up tight in parentheses and too deep inflections.

Emma had been a loner for so long that she was used to only associating with other loners who used each other out of need with ever present understanding that everything was temporary.

Mary Margaret clung to Emma as if she was her life preserver in an increasingly stormy sea.

Henry looked up to her as a mother/savior figure

Graham wanted a partner to shirk his responsibilities on. Someone who was as equally fucked up so that she wouldn't be able to pass judgment on his numerous faults.

And then there was August.

The ever present and mysterious August.

August exceled at being aloof but still couldn't completely mask the look on his face that seemed to say 'I need you.' whenever he stared at Emma for too too long.

When Gold looked at her he saw someone he could use. And it was refreshing.

Emma could dance the give and take tango with the best of them. Emma could manipulate, cajole, cry and bat her eyes, and black mail like a son of a bitch.

It was refreshing to find a kindred spirit, especially when for so long she'd sacrificed the warm touch of another body for the cold safety of her own right hand.

"Just fucking go with it." She said before Mr. Gold could offer up a protest.

He looked at her with an intensity that was unnerving. It seemed as though he could look into her so deeply that every wall she had built up with careful control and dexterity was being easily brushed aside as if they were downy soft feathers that offered no resistance.

"Your wish is my command." He said, sincerely with no trace of irony.

Dinner was quickly forgotten as they fell into each other's arms.

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><p>So here is another chapter. I plan on updating soon. Your reviews are self-esteem boosters and spur me on into writing more chapters. So, please, review. Seriously.<p>

Also if anyone is interested in being a beta reader, please let me know, because I would really fucking appreciate it.


	8. Desperation Leads to Perspiration

This chapter is dedicated to the other chapters that I've written. I never would have gotten here if it wasn't for you.

A special shout out goes to Cu Chulainn 1945 who was able to beta the first half of this chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT. Also this chapter puts in M in M rating.

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><p><strong>Chapter Eight: "Desperation Leads to Perspiration"<strong>

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><p>Emma fingered the sliver-thin mother of pearl buttons on Mr. Gold's shirt and began to quickly unbutton them.<p>

Mr. Gold grabbed her hands to stop her and she quickly looked up to see what the matter was.

"This will change everything," he said gravely.

"Maybe I like change," she countered as she pulled her hands out of his grip.

"Let me put this a different way, then; you will regret this later," he said hoarsely as Emma went back to stripping him of his shirt.

"Fuck off."

"I want you to at least acknowledge my concerns."

Emma snorted as she divested him of his shirt. "I did acknowledge your concerns. And, to repeat myself, I said 'Fuck off.'"

Mr. Gold quickly shoved her away causing the buttons to violently rip off of his shirt. Emma let them fall from her fingers like pebbles following the current of an angry unpredictable river.

"I don't want you to sleep with me out of some misplaced sense of pity for the hated cripple," he snarled but his hands still searched for the tiny zipper on the back of her cocktail dress.  
>"Why would I pity you? Nobody in this town likes you because you act like an entitled **," Emma said, emphasizing the word '**' by giving him a rough tug on his tie.<p>

"I don't need their love, just their respect."

"It's not respect, it's fear."

"Are you afraid of me, Ms. Swan?" he asked, getting unnervingly close to her and smiling wolfishly.

'He's the big bad wolf' Emma thought suddenly.

Her mind began to wander even as her fingers roamed across his body. She remembered seeing him beating Moe French with his cane until the man was a bloody and broken wreck.  
>This was a man who would burn down a building for you and still expect a sizable favor in return. This is a man who wanders around the woods in the middle of the night. This is the man who kidnaps, coerces, extorts and beats his enemies into submission. A man who simultaneously operates ten steps ahead of you and refuses to tell you what game it is you're playing.<p>

You don't share a bed with this kind of man; you lock the door and throw away the key when they get too close to your house.

Emma didn't trust Gold. She wasn't sure she could ever trust him but she did have faith in him. His word was his bond and there was something so pastoral – so homespun - about that notion that it sanded off some of Gold's rough edges. He still wasn't smooth or soft, but the kind of pain he inflicted was bearable. Just bearable.

"No. Should I be?" she said nastily.

"This –" Gold gestured to the room around them, to the clothes half-off their bodies and particularly the flush on Emma's cheeks. "- won't solve anything between us. You'll still owe me a favor."

Emma ran her fingers through his soft brown hair.

"You just never turn it off do you?" she asked.

"Turn what off?" he asked as he finally found her zipper and began to slowly lower it.

Emma gently kissed him on the forehead.

"Your paranoia," she said quietly.

"It's not paranoia. It's self-preservation," he corrected, his breath slightly hitching as he moved her zipper lower and lower. "Paranoia implies that the suspicion is unwarranted. I don't think people have me in their metaphorical cross hairs … I know it." He unzipped her and ran his callused hands across her back and down her spine, edging closer and closer to the frayed elastic hem of her underwear.

"Don't." She paused and pulled him towards herself with his tie. He was so close that she could smell the scotch on his breath and the spicy musty cologne that made him smell like neglected libraries and silver polish and dirt. Mr. Gold didn't smell like the intangible fancy of romance but something earthly and solid and excruciatingly physical.

"Don't you think that you might have an enlarged sense of self?"

He smirked at her, showing her his tombstone-crooked bottom teeth.

"Is that why you're so secretive? You're afraid that anything can be held against you," She posited as she pressed herself against him. Her dress was beginning to fall down, allowing gravity to coax it along, further and further down.

"Always leave them wanting more, that's the key to success," he said.

"Ok. Whatever you say, Hamish," Emma responded, easy back slightly.

He looked at her through narrowed eyes. He didn't look particularly surprised, or at least he didn't show her that he was surprised, just upset that now was the time that Emma was showing him her hand.

"What did you just say?" He rasped.

"Your name, Hamish R Gold. If you want to keep your name a secret then don't get arrested for assault and battery. It's that simply, Hamish."

"Shite," he growled or perhaps laughed into her hair. She could feel his breath tickling across the back of her neck.

"So, don't call you Hamish?"

"Don't be trite." He fussed as he slipped off her dress.

They quickly moved to a master bedroom, a sparsely furnished room that contained only a matching set of pine bedroom furniture and a small framed picture of a wood cutting that depicted a cottage nestled into a rolling hillside.

They looked at each other and through each other and maybe even a little bit past each other. It was almost unbearably personal but at the same time incredibly distant.

They were two guarded cynics trying to connect with one another and both reluctant to open up too much least that inner soft spot that resided beneath rusty, crusty shells be exposed.

Emma watched Gold as he struggled to remove his slacks. She tried hard not to stare at his knee, if it could truly be called a knee. It was a mess of matted scar tissue. Even though it must have been an old wound, it still looked red and raw as if it had never really healed. Not completely.

"Does it hurt?" she whispered.

"Always."

She placed her hand on his scar and then ran her hand slowly up his thigh. Inching closer and closer to his obvious arousal.

He wasn't looking at her. His eyes were focused on the ceiling, staring hard at the white stucco brightness.

"Look at me." She whispered. "You don't get to look away. You don't get to pretend that you're somewhere else." She said.

He tilted his head towards her and looked at her with eyes that conveyed both longing and worry and sadness and something else.

He hooked his fingers into the elastic lining of her underpants. Emma almost wished that she had chosen to wear something sexier.

"God, I feel like Bridget Jones." Emma laughed.

"I don't understand what that means." Gold said.

"It's from a movie. Or a book. I don't remember." She said breathlessly as she felt his hands slide down the back of her thighs.

"I don't watch movies." He explained.

"Have you seen a movie? At all?" Emma said unable to stop herself from pursuing this line of questioning.

"Some. Old ones. Black and white ones. Uh. "The Bicycle Thieves". I like that one." Gold said softly as he ran his hands up the hollow of her back and then back down the half circle curve where her buttocks meet her thighs.

She pressed her face into the crock of his neck and sighed into it. Deep and heavy. She settled herself on top of him. Wrapped her legs around him and let her honey blonde hair cover him like a veil.  
>She moved softly and delicately up and down over him. Making sure to evenly distribute her weight onto her knees, keeping as much of her weight off of him as to avoid injuring him. Well, avoid injuring more than it already was (if such a thing was possible).<p>

She gently ran her hand over the scar.

"What happened?" she asked.

"It's a complicated story." He said.

"Give me the abridged version." She said.

"I'm beginning to think that you are less interested in getting me naked then you are in getting me vulnerable. You get one, not both." He sighed then continued. "Once upon a time I ran away from a fight. So to make sure that I never ran away again I was hobbled."

"That's terrible." Emma said. She still had more questions she wanted to ask. Who had done it, why was he fighting, why did he run away?

The Gold that Emma knew seemed to thrive on confrontation; enjoyed putting himself in the middle of fights, this younger version of himself completely contrasted with the man she knew. She wondered if his injury had forced him to participate in so many battles that he was now incapable of backing down.

The injury had been a cure for his cowardice; a painful panacea.

Emma wasn't sure what else to say. Did she offer comfort and solace, or would that simply act as a spotlight to highlight her discomfort at now knowing this knew piece of information?

"We can stop." He said softly, as he rubbed the delicate bridge of his nose. "This was…" he paused and gestured at the two of them, "Foolish."

"Stop. Just shut up. Both of us are going to shut the fuck up and keep doing what we were doing previously. No more question and answer sessions, no more bullshit, just you and me and nothing else." She said as she moved her hips up and down in a gentle rhythm against him.

He didn't protest, just pressed his head against his feather pillow and shallowly breathed out.

She slid up against him enjoying the friction that she was creating. Waves of pleasure washed over her. She wouldn't say the pleasure was intense but it was soft and steady and a wrapped around like a well-worn afghan.

Emma hadn't felt this way for a while.

She wasn't used to consistent pleasure. She was always attracted to the guys who specialized in rough and tumble one night stands. Well mostly attracted to them. There was one exception to that rule but she didn't like thinking about him. Betrayal was interwoven with the love she had felt for Neil that she wasn't sure that she would ever be unable to untangle the two.  
>"Show me what you want. Tell me what you want." She whispered to him.<p>

"Everything. I want everything."

He grabbed her hips and rolled her over so that he was on top of her. His stubble scrapped across her neck as he kissed her. She felt his teeth nip against her skin and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing her nails into his back to show that she, too, wasn't averse to mixing a little pain with pleasure.

Her underwear had been pulled off and was now laying at the foot of the bed. Her bra was the last bastion of her virtue but it was now under siege by Gold's fingers. He fumbled with its eyehooks until they weakly snapped apart and he tossed it aside.

He ran his hands over her breasts, his callouses roughly catching against her skin as they swept across her chest then moved down, down, down.

They hadn't kissed since their first awkward encounter in the kitchen. Their second attempt was more successful. It was hard and forceful, further tangling them into each other, overlapping themselves into a Venn Diagram of bad decisions. Emma wrapped her arms around his neck one hand nestled finger deep into his hair and closed her eyes so that she couldn't tell if he was staring intensely at her.

Emma sighed into him as he fingers slowly entered her, and he took this as an invitation to deepen the kiss. His tongue flicked inside her mouth, gentle, gentle, and slow, mirroring the same amount of tentative exploration that his fingers exhibited as they continued to slide deeper into her tightness.

She could feel his arousal, still trapped in the confines of his boxers, rubbing against her stomach in short, damp strokes. Emma inched her fingers towards his erection and fumbled with the opening flap of his boxers. Gold pulled away from their kiss with a hiss as flesh finally met flesh.

He placed his head in the crook of her shoulder and breathed harshly into the hollow of her neck as she stroked him into fullness.

Gold removed his fingers from her, and, still wet with her arousal, wrapped his hand against hers. He pried her hand off of his cock and gently moved her hand to the small of his back.

He stopped obviously waiting for her to voice her displeasure to stop this before it became something that could never be undone.

"Do it." She said. A dare, an invitation, a plea, an accusation. It was all of those things and more. Don't make me elaborate she thought. Don't make me explain what I want, she silently urged, because words had always fucked Emma over and she had always been an action is louder than kind of girl.

He looked down at her and nodded. He slid into her slowly.

"Fuck." She whispered, soft enough so that it could easily be mistaken for the sharp inhale and exhale of breath.

He groaned, low and long, until he was inside her.

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in as close as she could, so close that his warmth bled into hers, so that when this was over she could remember a time when her loneliness had been lifted from her.

She pushed up against him, moving her hips in time with his. It was awkward and they weren't able to find the right rhythm but even their out of synch fumbles were unable to derail the momentum of their lust.

He moved his hands to her hips and pressed his fingers deeply into her flesh. It hurt. There would be four dime sized constellations of bruises darkening each of her hips for weeks to come, physical evidence of their encounter that would last for weeks before fading into her skin.

He lowered his head and brushed his lips against her ear and worked his way down her neck in gentle kisses until, as if he had expended all of his tenderness, bit down hard.

She yelled as he thrust into her one last time before he immediately pulled out and ejaculated onto her inner thigh.

He collapsed on top of her, his sweat mingling with her, his seed smearing from her thigh to his hip, and his breath ringing heavily into her ears.

Emma was still in that limbo, that sort of place betwixt the real world and the sex induced white out delirium to realize that what Emma thought was Gold struggling to catch his breath, wasn't. Not knowing what to do, Emma wrapped her arms around Gold as he sobbed into her hair.

'Where do we go from here?' she thought to herself. 'Where do we go from here?'

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><p>Post Note: If anyone is interested in being a beta for this, I would very much appreciate it. Also, thanks for sticking around I know that it has been awhile since I've updated (so much so that most of the details that I've put into this fic have been retconned and AUed by the show) but, again, thanks for reading. And remember, reviews are appreciated.<p> 


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